


Storm In The Morning Light

by Wildgoosery



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Missing Scene, Season/Series 01, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildgoosery/pseuds/Wildgoosery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zuko and Lieutenant Jee have each seen their share of storms, on the sea and in their hearts alike. But the wings of the Dragon of the West have always sheltered them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm In The Morning Light

**Author's Note:**

> Set between "The Storm" and "The Waterbending Master." My thanks to Paul for his aid and reassurance. Written for [FanficForensics](http://fanficforensics.dreamwidth.org/), and originally posted [here](http://ridingthedragon.livejournal.com/5414.html).

***

The sea was calm, the sky pale and clear of all but scattered shreds of cloud. From the bridge, Lieutenant Jee watched the crew pace along the deck, pausing only for idle squabbling or to sneak gulps from the flasks they kept in their sleeves. He grimaced. Times past, he might have longed for a storm to break the poisonous monotony.

He shielded his eyes against the sun and scanned the unbroken horizon. Even across these glassy waters they would steam for two full days before they made port. Jee had already assigned rotating shifts of Firebenders to the boiler room, pushing the flames high enough to singe their beards and eyebrows, but he found no comfort in that fact. He knew their efforts would save them a handful of hours, at most.

Prince Zuko knew, as well. Thrown out of the boiler room midway through his first belligerent shift, he'd spent the time since roving the decks and corridors, barking nonsense orders at any crewmen unfortunate enough to cross his path. Jee hadn't the heart to reprimand him — nor, strictly speaking, the rank. Besides, every man on the ship had wound himself into a tight knot of panic, or drunk straight through it to something like indifference. If the prince was foolish enough to antagonize them, perhaps the consequent inebriated brawling would at least be instructive.

Hinges groaned behind him, followed by booted footsteps on the iron floor. Jee turned from the deck, one hand lingering on the helm. The ship's surgeon — who was also the cook and the boatswain — stood at the door to the bridge, grim-faced and exhausted.

"Any change?" asked Jee.

"For the worse," said the other man, his words clipped.

On the deck below, the crew had arranged themselves in a half-circle near the bow. A sungi horn had appeared in their midst. Fitting tribute, Jee had to admit. "Prince Zuko?"

"You should find him."

Jee ran a hand over his face, pulling at his sideburns. "Take the helm."

***

Born a second son in a family of middling import, Jee had been swept into military life as soon as the armor would fit him, the distant chance of glory at war far exceeding his utility at home. General Iroh, then barely a colonel and glowing with the naivete of untested royalty, had picked Jee from the fresh-faced cadets to join his first excursion to the front. Only later, gazing back at his youth from the comfortable elevation of middle age, would Jee understand how lucky he had been.

Prince Zuko had been a whole year older at the time of his banishment to sea, and the lieutenant had once judged him all the more harshly for it. At thirteen, Jee had bunked in a tent with six other men on the borders of some now-forgotten city-kingdom, snow piled against the oiled canvas walls and steam curling from their lips as they tried to melt the numbness from their fingers.

Three years into their voyage, Jee knew better than to dismiss the prince out of hand. Zuko had weathered storms of another sort, deeper in their chill and slower to fade.

The Dragon of the West had stood beside them both, in turn, his great wings sheltering them from the worst of their adolescence. Yet the clouds were gathering once again, darkening their horizons. And through these rough, foreboding seas, the Dragon fitfully slumbered.

***

Jee found him lurking just outside the engine room, wedged between a bulkhead and a shoulder-high coil of steel cable. Prince Zuko didn't appear to notice the lieutenant's approach, though Jee made no effort to disguise it. His gaze was fixed on the boiler itself, intense and intent. Its flame reflected in his eyes, pulsing with the slow breath of the men who sat cross-legged before it on the deck, their outlines vague in shimmering heat.

Zuko's breath had slipped into sync with theirs. Beads of sweat stood out from the unmarked skin of his forehead.

Jee folded his arms over his chest. "I thought they took you off shift rotation."

Zuko twitched in surprise but didn't look away from the boiler. He scowled and hunched his shoulders closer to his ears, his lips tight and thin.

"They can handle this without you," Jee went on, not unkindly.

"If they didn't need my help then we'd be going faster," Zuko spat. Beneath the staccato venom of clipped words, Jee could hear a creeping edge of panic.

"And if we melt the boiler we'll all die out here."

Zuko's eyes flickered sideways. "Did you come down here to bore me to death with your idiot conversation, or is there something you need?" He sneered and returned to glowering at the furnace.

Zuko's face was in profile from where Jee stood, the harsher truths of his features hidden from view. The usually smooth outline of his skull had blurred and darkened, prickly from days of neglect. His tightly-bound queue hung limp and tangled. His unmarked eye sat too deeply in its socket, his cheekbones sharp beneath sallow skin.

At sixteen, Jee had thought himself a veteran of the front, battle-hardened and wise beyond his years. He had watched as a friend from the academy was swept off deck and out to sea. He had crouched in shallow trenches on the front lines, his skin caked in sweat and blood and dust. He had cradled the head of a dying man while Earthbenders tore the landscape apart around them. But he had never wanted for companionship; even mired in the icy pitch of terror and grief, the reassuring weight of the Dragon's palm had rested on his shoulder.

Jee clasped his hands together at the small of his back. "There may not be much time."

A wince flickered over Zuko's features. "I know."

"You should go to him," Jee rumbled. "You'll regret it if you don't."

"It won't help for me to sit there staring at him."

Jee watched as waves of grief and anger rolled over the younger man's face, tidal forces that carved deep lines into his brow and clenched his teeth together. Jee's fists were tight with restraint, his fingernails creasing his skin.

"He won't even know I'm there."

Jee's mouth softened into a smile. "Not much gets past your uncle."

Zuko straightened, finally breaking his vigil over the boiler. He turned to face Jee, thin shoulders squared and arms stiff and straight along his sides. In the dim light his scar gleamed an angry red.

Jee nodded, turned on his heel and strode down the corridor. The prince's footsteps followed.

***

Swamp fever passed from man to man through the bite of the horse mosquito. As the sick themselves posed no threat to visitors, at least one of the crew had sat with their general through the days he had been ill. Iroh had always been popular among the men.

This particular morning, the engineer was perched on a crate beside the bed, a pipe between his teeth and a narrow scroll held open in his lap. He raised his head at the sound of the hatch swinging open, and stood once he saw who it was. He rolled up his reading and tucked it into his belt.

"What is that?" Zuko snapped, reflexively suspicious.

The engineer flashed a tired but rueful grin. "Sentimental poems for soft old fools like ourselves." He nodded to Jee, a shorthand that passed for a bow among their tattered afterthought of a crew. To Zuko, he offered a formal salute, fist against palm and head down. Then he left, and Jee closed the hatch again behind him.

Zuko made no move toward the bed. He stared at his uncle's face, too thin and too pale, labored breath mingled with the thrum of the engines. Lank tendrils of hair were plastered to his forehead with sweat. Jee had never seen him look so old, nor so frail.

"Lieutenant..." Zuko's throat moved as he swallowed. His fists trembled. "I have a favor to ask."

Jee's eyes widened. He couldn't think of a time when the prince had asked for anything. Ordered, yes. Demanded, many times. But never this. "A favor?"

"I have food and a tent," he said. "I'll need a boat. And for you to get me close enough to shore." He swallowed again. "And some warning, if you can manage it."

Jee frowned. "Warning for what?"

"I'm not an idiot. I know what's going to happen if..." Zuko shuddered and drew a quick breath. "Look, if you won't help me just-"

"No," said Jee. Then, seeing the fear in the younger man's eyes, "It won't come to that."

"But..." Zuko looked between Jee and his Uncle, visibly uncertain. "But you said...if he..."

"It won't come to that, Prince Zuko."

Zuko's shoulders fell, his body sagging as if days of too little food and sleep had caught up with him all at once. Clumsy with exhaustion, he crossed the room to the makeshift stool and lowered himself onto it. He reached out with one pale, fine-boned hand and took hold of the old man's calloused fingers.

Jee looked on in silence for the space of several breaths. Slow and cautious, he extended his own hand, ready for the first sign of flight.

None came. He rested his palm on Zuko's shoulder, squeezing it briefly through salt-crusted silk.

Together, they watched as the Dragon slept.

***


End file.
